


waking up

by escapismandsharpobjects



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Aliens, Experimentation, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Max Whump, Max-centric, POV Max Evans, Torture, Whump, brief addendum just realised Michaels truck doesn’t have a backseat, but theres a lot, i didn't know if isobel is w an a or an o im so sorry, i guess, obviously, pretend he has a larger truck, sort of??, the graphic depictions of violence arent THAT graphic, we will just ignore that fact my bad folks, which we need more of btw!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-23 09:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23009095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escapismandsharpobjects/pseuds/escapismandsharpobjects
Summary: The first thing he realizes when he wakes up is that he is alone. The room he is in is utterly empty, apart from himself and the table that he is strapped to. More than that, though, his siblings aren’t with him-in fact, their presences are so remote he wonders if he’s still in New Mexico at all.His first thought upon discovering this information is "good." If Isobel and Michael aren’t here, they can’t get hurt. (They also can’t help him, but that is less important-it is always them, their safety, that takes precedence).
Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans, Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Max Evans & Michael Guerin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	waking up

**Author's Note:**

> this is set sometime before the s1 finale  
> hello!!! i was feeling inspired to write some max whump so here's this! there's some of my own headcanons in here and the characters might be a little ooc but i hope it's alright anyway!!! hope you enjoy!!!!

The first thing he realizes when he wakes up is that he is alone. The room he is in is utterly empty, apart from himself and the table that he is strapped to. More than that, though, his siblings aren’t with him-in fact, their presences are so remote he wonders if he’s still in New Mexico at all.

His first thought upon discovering this information is  _ good _ . If Isobel and Michael aren’t here, they can’t get hurt. (They also can’t  _ help him _ , but that is less important-it is always them, their safety, that takes precedence).

The second thing he realizes is that he has no idea how exactly he ended up...wherever the hell he is. He tries to think backwards, but there is nothing  _ before  _ that is helpful. Extrapolating from this, he comes to the realization that he has no idea what day it is, and consequently, how long he’s been missing, and, furthermore, he has no idea  _ why  _ he’s here. Logically, he thinks it must be something to do with the whole alien thing, except he can’t figure out how anyone would have found out about only him, and not his siblings. 

This causes a horrible thought-what if Isobel and Michael are here right now? What if he just isn’t sensing them properly, what if there’s some dampening field or something that’s been used on him? What if they’re in danger?

He’s in danger, too, a voice at the back of his head reminds him. Not that it matters. All that matters is getting off of this table, out of this room, and to his siblings.

Easier said than done. His wrists and ankles are bound to the metal table with chains that are tied so tightly he can barely move his limbs at all. He pulls against them until his wrists are raw and bloody, but the chains don’t move an inch, and he is no closer to escape.

He tries to call to his siblings, though something tells him they won’t hear. As he expects, there is no pull at the other side of their bond, nothing at all to tell him they feel him. He tries to actually  _ call  _ to them, too, but their names simply echo around the empty room until they fade.

His shouting does alert  _ someone  _ to his presence, though, and the door bangs open. A man strides in, the grin on his face making him look like a predator whose prey has just stumbled fatally into a trap. He isn’t military-Max gleans this right away, something about the way the man carries himself, as though he’s the only one of importance and not part of a larger group. He’s dressed like a military man, however. Ex-military, maybe, Max thinks. Dangerous. No master but himself. No rules but the ones he creates.

“You’re awake,” the man says. Something in his voice sends a shiver up Max’s spine. “Good.” He smiles that predatory smile again, and Max mentally urges him closer, preparing to attack him like he attacked that creep in the desert all those years ago. 

He feels his palms get warm, feels the power build up-and then it stops. Like he’s run out of gas. 

“We can’t be having that,” the man says. “Can’t have you trying to kill me before I even get started.”

“How did you...started with what?”

“Experimenting, of course.”

Max swallows harshly, not liking where this is going. “Experimenting?”

“What else does one do when they come into possession of an alien life form?”

He’s about to say something else, to defend, deny,  _ something _ , but suddenly there’s a needle poking into his neck, and everything fades away.

\---

He’s in a new room when he wakes up. Where the other room had been basically empty, this room is filled with shelves and cabinets and tables. He is still on one of those tables, though this one is larger than the one he’d been on before. He’s still tied down, as well, and these chains feel even stronger than the others.  _ Not a good sign _ , Max thinks.

He looks around as best as he can. Two people are standing over him now, neither one the man who’d been there before. They, too, are dressed for the military, and step away from him when the man-who must be in charge here, Max decides-comes into the room. He gives them each a curt nod, and they leave the room. The man steps closer to Max, looming over him. 

“Welcome to the lab,” he says, indicating the room with a wide sweep of his hand. He turns away from Max and calls to another two people at the other end of the room.

“Peters! Anderson! Come here and say hello to our guest!”

Two people in lab coats approach him, hanging back slightly as though he’s something dangerous. _ Maybe I am _ , he thinks. Certainly he  _ could  _ be, if he could only use his powers.

“Come closer, don’t be shy.”

The scientists-what else can they be?-slowly walk closer. They look at him intensely, like they’re analyzing him, like he’s a specimen.

“I thought it’d be...more  _ alien _ , Commander” one confesses sheepishly to the man-Commander, Max notes. Not a name, but a start.

“He may look human on the outside, but I promise you that’s where the resemblance stops,” the Commander says, almost reassuringly. “Ready?”

Both scientists nod firmly. “Yes, sir!”

“Good. Let’s start out with a quick pain test, just to gauge the reactions. How’s the blood work coming?”

“Jones said it would be only half an hour more, sir.”

“Very good. Once we get that back, we can  _ really  _ get started. In the meantime, you may begin.”

“Yes, sir.”

Max strains desperately against the chains. He doesn’t know what exactly a pain test entails, but it cannot possibly be pleasant. He shudders to think of what they might do with his blood.  _ What do they want from me?  _ he wonders desperately. 

“What do you want from me?” he near shouts, hoping it comes off angry but feeling the desperation leak into his voice. 

“I thought I told you. Experimental results. We want  _ data _ .”

With that, the scientists turn away from him, grabbing various bits of equipment from the shelves. He tries to see what they’re getting, but half of it looks like nothing he’s seen before, and the other half makes him close his eyes involuntarily, like if he can’t see it, they won’t use it.

The next few...minutes? hours? days? pass in a haze of pain. The first thing they do to him is stab him, through the shoulder. He feels the knife embed itself into the table below him, as though he’d needed to be pinned further. He doesn’t make a sound. It hurts, of  _ course  _ it hurts, but they don’t have to know that. Maybe if he outlasts them, they’ll…

He does not get to decide what they might do, because suddenly the knife is twisted inside him, horribly slowly. He bites his tongue to keep from screaming, feels his mouth fill with blood.  _ I’ll get out _ , he tells himself.  _ I can beat them _ .

They beat him, instead. Quite literally. After the stabbing and subsequent twisting and further prodding of the wound, they inject him with something that makes him go limp, then unchain him and rechain him, this time to a hook from the ceiling, so he hangs from it like a punching bag.

The scientists aren’t ones to get their hands dirty, it seems. Either that or the Commander really has it out for him.

Blow after blow lands on him, predominantly to his torso, but occasionally to his head, sometimes his throat, just to spice it up. At some point he does scream, or maybe it’s just a whimper, but whatever it is, the beating stops. 

“There it is,” says the Commander, wiping Max’s blood off his knuckles. One of the scientists writes something down. “The pain threshold.”

He passes out of his own accord this time.

\---

When he wakes up again, he’s back on the table, still in the lab. The same people are there in the room with him. The Commander and one scientist are standing over him, and the other scientist is working at a computer, glancing between the screen and a sheet of paper every so often. Max has a sinking feeling that the blood work is back.

Every part of him hurts. The stab wound pulses in time with his heartbeat. His torso just  _ aches _ . It hurts to breathe. It hurts worse to not breathe. 

“Welcome back,” says the Commander, looking Max in the eye. “You’ve given us some excellent data so far, so we’re going to give you a quick break and ask you some questions instead.”

Max won’t answer. He  _ won’t _ .

“Where did you come from?”

He says nothing. 

“How old are you?”

Nothing.

“Do you know of any other aliens?”

Nothing. 

“Well, it’s not helpful if you’re not going to participate. I was going to let you rest and recover a bit, but we can get right back to it, if you’d rather.” He turns to the scientist next to him and opens his mouth to give a command. 

“Wait!”

Everything  _ hurts _ .

“I’ll answer your questions.”

“Very good. Now. Where did you come from?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s an answer, at least. I don’t believe it, but that hardly matters. How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.” Or seventy-two, depending on how you looked at it.

“Do you know any other aliens? Any others like you?”

“No.”

“Really? What about those people you were yelling for earlier? Isobel and Michael, I believe? Are they aliens?”

“ _ No _ . They’re...my friends. Humans.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Too bad.”

Probably not the best thing to say to a man who could presumably kill you if he felt so inclined. Fortunately, all it earns him is a sharp slap to the face, which he barely registers over the pain of everything else.

“Guess we’re done, then. Peters, get over here a second!”

The scientist who’d been working at the computer quickly scurries over, carrying a clipboard. 

“You may begin phase two.”

_ Great. Multiple phases _ , Max thinks, and closes his eyes, trying to fall into unconsciousness once again. 

“Oh no, you don't,” says the Commander, slapping him again. “You need to be awake for this.”

“‘Wake for what,” Max mutters, though he really doesn’t want to know. He coughs and feels the now-familiar sensation of blood filling his mouth. 

A small box is brought out, and Max recognizes it at once-his salvation, an electroshock machine. The power from that...whatever they did to him to dampen his powers, this will surely overcome it.

They hook up the machine and switch the metal chains out for thick scratchy ropes. The machine hums as it turns on, a familiar buzz of electricity that feels more welcoming than sinister. 

They shock him once-a low voltage, presumably so they don’t kill him right off the bat, and it barely feels like anything. They up the voltage. It’s slightly uncomfortable, but he can feel the electricity slowly seep into his skin. He waits. They up the voltage.

It hurts now. His body jerks with every shock, but the electricity is building up inside him, more slowly than he thinks it should be, but building up all the same. He waits. They up the voltage.

He’s screaming now, he thinks. They have stopped pulsing the electricity, and are running it through him like he’s part of a circuit instead. It’s still building up, though, which is the important thing. But it  _ hurts _ . It hurts in a way that’s unfamiliar to him, that unique and terrible feeling of being hurt by something important to you, something that’s  _ part  _ of you. His head pounds, and he can barely hear his own screams over the rushing in his ears. Everything tastes like blood and bile and his wrists scream along with him, jerking into the ropes sharply with each convulsion of his body. 

But the power is there, it’s building up, it’s so close to being what he needs...and all of a sudden it hits that threshold, and his vision goes white, and he just lets go.

\---

He wakes up trapped. Some sort of beam is pinning him down, and rubble surrounds him. Rubble and bodies and blood. 

There is rope still around his right wrist, but his arms and legs are free of their restraints. Not that they’re of much use to him now-the beam is far too heavy for him to move under the best of circumstances and now-well, at least some of his ribs were already broken, so it could be worse, he supposes. He can hardly breathe, but he could hardly breathe before. 

He shifts slightly amidst the rubble, just to see if he can. It hurts, but it’s possible, and he’s about to try something,  _ anything _ , when Isobel and Michael’s presences rush back into his mind, slamming his head back to the ground with the overwhelming, unexpected intensity of a flash flood in the desert.

He calls out to them with as much strength as he can muster (which is not very much). He hopes they can hear him anyway. He wonders how long he’s been gone.

Dimly, he thinks that maybe he should try to use his powers, heal himself. He raises a shaking hand to his head, his entire body trembling with the effort, and cannot manage to do anything but drop it back to the ground. He closes his eyes and hopes to wake up to something better.

\---

When he wakes up again, it’s to the sudden absence of a crushing weight on his chest and the agony that replaces it. He groans and opens his eyes.

“You with us?”

He groans again. There is a hand on his face and he pulls away from it. He’s been slapped too many times recently. 

“Stay awake, please, Max.”

But it all hurts so much, and he’s supposed to be the strong one, so he closes his eyes to hide the pain.

\---

The next time he wakes up, he’s moving. He’s also lying down. He’s in a car...no, he’s in Michael’s truck, which is going far too fast and hitting far too many bumps in the road for his liking. Everything still hurts _ so much _ , and he wants to just go back to sleep and ignore the pain, but the truck hits another bump and he yelps, and Isobel turns around in the front seat and tells him to stay awake, just stay awake,  _ please _ , and he  _ has  _ to listen. 

“Hurts,” he chokes out. “Can’t...can’t heal it.”

“I know, I know. Just stay awake.”

It’s  _ so hard _ to stay awake, but he manages it. The truck stops, and he realizes with a start that they’re at the hospital.

“We can’t...the hospital…”

“It’s fine, we’ll find Kyle, he’s on shift today,” says Michael. “We won’t let anyone else touch you.”

Max nods slightly, a bad decision which just makes him dizzier. His siblings clamber out of the front seat, and Michael opens the door closest to Max’s head. 

Max sits up slightly, or tries to, but the movement makes each one of his injuries hurt even more, somehow, sending a pounding wave of agony and nausea through his body. He turns his head to the side and throws up, and it burns and it’s full of blood, and Michael says, “shit,” and Max whimpers. If he was in his right mind he’d hate himself for it, hate himself for being so weak, but he’s half delirious with pain and too weak to even cry, and he just lies there and whimpers again when Michael telekinetically lifts him as carefully as he can into his arms. Isobel is right there, too, saying something to him. He hopes it’s not important, because all he can focus on is the soothing sound of her voice and the feeling of Michael holding him, which hurts, sure, but  _ everything  _ hurts, and he feels  _ safe  _ for the first time in god knows how long.

\---

He drifts in and out of consciousness for a long while, catching snippets of conversation that he can’t make any sense of before he falls asleep again, until finally, he wakes up for real. 

He’s in a hospital bed, in a small room with curtains drawn over its single, tiny window, so that he has no idea what time it is. Michael and Isobel are seated in chairs next to his bed, asleep, their heads resting gently against each other. He smiles softly at them, then looks at his room, which is not a hospital room. It may be  _ in  _ the hospital, but there’s a desk and a chair, and a couple bookshelves, and various medical diagrams on the walls. He wonders whose office he’s taken over.

He’s about to wake his siblings and ask, among a few other questions, exactly how much acetone they’ve given him (he can barely feel anything, and it’s  _ great _ ), but the door opens before he can say anything, and Kyle Valenti steps in.

“Nice to see you fully conscious, Evans. How you feeling?”

“Better than I probably should.”

“You’re on a hell of a lot of acetone. You should’ve seen the look I got from the drugstore cashier.” Kyle smiles lightly. “I’m gonna go call Liz. You’ve been out for a while, and she was freaking out, so I told her she should grab some lunch, clear her head.”

Max nods, which doesn’t hurt his head as much as it had the last time he’d tried it. “Thanks.”

Kyle nods back. “Don’t mention it.” 

He heads out of the room to call Liz, and Max carefully pulls an arm out from under the blankets. It only hurts a little, so he slowly reaches over and taps Michael on the arm.

Michael’s eyes fly open, and he looks around the room a second before his gaze settles on Max. He gently shakes Isobel’s shoulder. She slowly opens her eyes, and absolutely  _ beams  _ when Max meets her gaze.

Max smiles at the two of them, and before he knows it, he’s crying, and then there are three fully-grown adults crammed into a tiny, creaky hospital bed and it is  _ extremely  _ uncomfortable, but their arms are around him and they are radiating sheer  _ relief _ , and he falls asleep feeling warm and content and completely safe.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading this!!!!!!! i've never written max before so i hope it turned out ok!! also i feel like i kind of ended it weird but i've never written anything this long but i hope it was alright anyway!!!!! please feel free to let me know what you think!!!!


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